


The Post-Lights-Out Homesick Blues

by inigosolo



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: ...to partially resolved sexual tension, : P, Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blow Jobs, First Time, Frottage, Javert is strangely ok with it, Javert's MASSIVE hands, Kink Meme, Long Update is LONG., M/M, Masturbation, Outdoor Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Valjean is a whore for Javert, Why did I do this to myself?, as if., for about three seconds, hhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggg, sixty nine, they're 17 and pretty much still virginal..., what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inigosolo/pseuds/inigosolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two glorious late-middle-aged French virgins reduced to the status of hormonal 17-year-old-boy virgins at a modern British boarding school, and all that implies.  So sue me.<br/>Hastily written for a kinkmeme prompt.  Gratuitous in the extreme.  Sorry-not-sorry-but-sort-of-sorry, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anon prompter on makinghugospin](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=anon+prompter+on+makinghugospin).



> For this prompt on Page 40 Round 1 at MakingHugoSpin:
> 
> J/VJ
> 
> Do we have boarding school AU yet?  
> Where Valjean is the kind of popular kid who's a bit of a slacker and Javert has excellent grades but no friends. And he suspects Valjean to be behind most pranks, so one night he follows him to possibly catch him redhanded? Only Valjean is just having a wank in the shower and Javert cannot look away, as much as he wants to...

*****

 

John Valjean was a slacker, a hypocrite, and an idiot.

He was exactly the sort of kid that Javert, as the senior prefect of their year, kept a close eye on.

Well, in truth, Javert kept a close eye on all the kids in their year.

And the rest of the sixth form.

And the years below them.

But that wasn't the point.

Javert, as a scholarship kid, had been an outcast from his first day at the school, arriving on the bus, carrying a beat-up old suitcase containing entirely second and third-hand stuff. He might as well have had a bullseye painted on the back of his head.

But he had been a cynic, even at 11 years old, and had expected nothing else from his rich, self-important classmates, so he hardened himself to it.

The thing about Valjean that rubbed Javert up the wrong way, was this; Valjean wasn't rich either. OK, so he wasn't a dirt poor scholarship kid like Javert, but all the same. Valjean only attended the school because his brother-in-law and guardian, Valjean's sisters husband, was the P.E. Teacher.

And yet, somehow, despite his lower status, Valjean was still reasonably popular amongst the other boys. Sure, he wasn't exactly the most popular kid in the year or anything, and of course his almost super-human prowess at sports certainly helped. But Valjean had never been the target that Javert was.

Where Javert had to work hard to achieve top marks in every subject each year in order to retain his scholarship place, Valjean was something of an academic underachiever. In subjects such as history, politics, geography, English language, Valjean more often than not could be found staring out of the window at the playing fields and the woods beyond.

Javert had applied to become a prefect because it was a role that came naturally to him. He had long ago risen above the taunts of the other boys, and he judged himself by his own set of self-imposed, rigid standards.

At 17-years of age, his experiences in life had left him many times more cynical than he had been at age 11. He understood now as he hadn't quite been able to grasp then, that he had been chosen for the scholarship position, not because he was cleverer than the other applicants, not because his exam grades had been highest, but because he ticked the most boxes on some official form of other.

 

Lowest possible economic background? Check.

 

Ethnic minority/mixed race? Double check.

 

In the care of social services? Check.

 

One or more parent deceased/incarcerated? Check.

 

Non-Christian background? Check.

 

Javert imagined that simply by accepting him as their scholarship student that year, the school's equality and diversity statistics had improved dramatically. The thought lent a wry twitch to his mouth.

There was only a year and a half more school to go, and then Javert would be off to join the police force. The school's on-and-off career advisor (John Valjean's older sister, on-and-off because she had to fit in consultations around giving birth to a seemingly endless parade of babies) had suggested that with Javert's grades, he could apply for one of the top universities, get a good degree in criminology, and then join the police force once he'd graduated.

But it didn't sit right with Javert to accept more schooling and financial support from the state than he already had. He would rather begin to pay off that debt as soon as possible, and the police force would surely give him the opportunity to do that. 

All the same, his solitary existence at the school sometimes proved dull, so of an evening, once his coursework was completed, Javert would throw himself into his prefect duties with more enthusiasm than had likely been shown by any other prefect in the school's 350 year history. 

On this particular November night, as he skulked in the corridor outside the Year 6 dormitories well past the time his duties dictated he remain there, he ruminated on John Valjean, and his disdain for the boy. 

Valjean was the only 6th year boy not within the dormitory, and according to Javert's watch, it was fast approaching midnight. They had to get up at 06:30 tomorrow morning, as it was mid week, and Javert had noted that all the other students were in their beds. 

Javert felt a prickling certainty that Valjean was off somewhere up to no good. 

In their early years at the school, Valjean had gotten into all sorts of scrapes. Stealing food from the kitchens at night. Scrumping for apples in an adjacent farmer's orchard. Going off walking in the woods by himself, returning caked in mud with a far-away expression. 

But his unruly behaviour had been addressed by teachers, prefects, his guardians. For the last few years Valjean's behaviour had improved, with most of his energies directed into playing rugby for the school, although he was still ridiculously absent-minded at times. 

As the hands of Javert's watch pointed to midnight, a clock somewhere chimed, and the lights in the corridor went out automatically.

 

Javert's jaw set.

 

It was past lights out, and he was the senior prefect of the year. It was his duty to find out where Valjean was, and what he was up to. And, if necessary, to come up with a fitting punishment. 

There was a faint light emanating from the other end of the corridor to where Javert stood. 

He followed it to it's source, a chink of fluorescent yellow coming from under the door to the Year 6 showers. 

Javert 'hrrmmm'ed in irritation. It appeared that Valjean's blasted absent-mindedness had struck again. 

“Valjean!” Javert hissed urgently through the closed door. “You dolt, it's past lights out. You'd better get to bed.” 

He waited several minutes for an answer but received none. He could just make out the sound of a shower running through the thick oak of the door. 

'Tsssk'ing in impatience, Javert pushed open the door, which let out it's customary creak, and strode into the shower room, opening his mouth to issue some cutting remark or other. 

His mouth remained open, but no sound came out. 

Valjean appeared blissfully unaware of Javert's arrival. His eyes were closed, humming to himself, his head right under the jet of hot water, sandy-brown hair plastered to his face.

His glistening naked body was angled towards Javert, and yet he remained utterly oblivious, his right hand curled tightly around his flushed erection, tugging on himself, a deft twist to his wrist at the base of his cock belying his apparently leisurely pace. 

Javert was a teenage boy himself, and in an all-boys boarding school such activities could hardly be avoided, but _really_... There was a time and place, a wanking etiquette of sorts, that was followed to ensure that these sorts of incidents did not occur. You relieved yourself in your own bed after lights out, with your hands under the covers, or if you required more privacy than that, you used a locked toilet cubicle. 

If even a social outcast like Javert could grasp these unwritten rules then what on EARTH was Valjean playing at? 

Javert stood, frozen to the spot, and was unable to tear his eyes away from the vulgar spectacle of Valjean, his stocky rugby-players body slick with water, his curved and swollen cock with it's bulbous red tip repeatedly revealed with each slow downward stroke over his foreskin. Valjean's other hand had been pressing in the metal knob that allocated you an allotted amount of hot water, but now it left to roam over his own chest, pinching at his nipples before sliding down to rub between his thighs and cup his balls... 

Javert didn't think he'd made any sound, but perhaps he had after all, because without warning Valjean's eyes shot open, his head bobbed up, and his posture went ramrod straight.

Ninety nine times out of a hundred, Javert would have found the expression of pure horror that took hold of Valjean's wet face upon seeing him comical.

Valjean's eyes went wide and round and he cried out in shock.

And simultaneously came, copiously, all over his own hand.

Javert was utterly incapable of looking away from the semen spurting out of Valjean's cock and washing away down the drain. Realising that his mouth was still open, he shut it with an audible clunk. 

With an impeccable sense of timing, the shower Valjean stood under switched itself off to conserve water. 

Sopping wet, sated, and humiliated, poor, stupid John Valjean spluttered without managing to articulate himself. Javert actually felt sorry for him. 

Eventually, Valjean forced some words out.

“Oh God... Oh God... Oh God... Oh, Javert! Please don't report me for this... I'll never live it down...”

Javert snorted. His voice, when it emerged from his throat, was even deeper than usual.

“Report what? It's not against the rules. Even not being in bed by lights out isn't a reportable offence for a six-former. Not as a one-off, anyway...” He wished that Valjean would move to cover himself up. 

As if hearing this thought, Valjean looked down with a jolt, surprised to find himself still nude, and let out a moan of dismay. He turned to retrieve his towel from the peg on the wall, and Javert watched him helplessly all the way. 

When Valjean had wrapped the towel around his middle, he faced Javert again, his face even more flushed with blood than his cock had been scant moments before. 

“Then you won't... You won't... Um. Tell anyone about this? Javert?” He pleaded, then added softly, as though unable to stop himself, “I'm so embarrassed already...”. 

Javert shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though he'd seldom felt so tense. “Who would I tell? Just get to bed and don't dawdle after lights out again, right?” 

“Alright, Javert. Um, thanks... And sorry..” Valjean visibly cringed before creeping past him to return to the dormitory. 

Javert let out a long, slow breath, before methodically turning out the wash room light and heading for bed himself. He undressed and got between the sheets as normal, as if in a daze. 

It was a good half hour before the urge became unbearable, and he huddled under his blanket, thrust his hands down and frantically brought himself off.

 

 

*****

 

 

At breakfast the following morning, Javert felt Valjean's gaze upon him. When he turned his head to meet it, the rugby-player quickly looked away, blushing.

 

 

*****

 

 

Months passed, with nothing unusual to mark them out apart from the increased frequency of Valjean's eyes upon him. 

There was no more unruly behaviour from Valjean, he was always in bed by lights out, and if he hadn't exactly been cured of his absent-mindedness, it's results were certainly lessened. Or so Javert observed. 

Valjean once again made a hero of himself upon the rugby pitch, Javert once more watched from the sidelines. 

With the approach of spring came cross-country running in their P.E. lessons, one of the few sports that Javert excelled at, his lanky frame and long, wiry limbs well suited to it. 

It happened that Valjean's brother-in-law, in his infinite P.E. Teacher wisdom, chose the wettest, muddiest afternoon of the year for their first cross-country trial, running laps around the perimeter of the school grounds, through the woods, up and down the undulating hills.

They had scarcely started the race, Javert's old, old running spikes had barely even started to pinch his toes, when some great heavy ox stumbled and crashed into Javert from behind, bringing his lithe form toppling down into the churned-up mud, landing on top of him. 

Attempting to wriggle out from under this crushing weight, Javert heard a familiar, mortified voice gasping “Sorry! Sorry!”

He growled and twisted around in the damp Earth, pushing roughly at Valjean's mammoth shoulders until the great lummox’s weight lifted off him.

Standing unsteadily over him in the squelchy ground, Valjean reached down a hand to help Javert up. 

Javert batted the hand away and struggled to his feet himself, fuming, at last standing to face his tormentor. 

“What's the matter with you you great clumsy oaf, can't you even watch where your going?!” He shouted, becoming aware that the rest of the class had obviously passed them both by, the stretch of track on which they'd fallen now empty of everyone but the two of them.

Valjean winced helplessly. “Really, Javert, I'm so sorry, I was...” But he couldn't seem to articulate what he'd been doing. Instead Valjean rubbed a muddy hand through his hair and groaned, “Oh, I'm so sorry, everyone thought you were going to win this race! And you could have, too, if only I hadn't...”

Javert shook his head, impatient and angry. Winning the race wasn't all that important to him in truth. He enjoyed running because he found it a means to an end – he'd need to be in peak fitness to join the police force. He was much more frustrated by the fact that everywhere he turned these days, Valjean appeared to be dogging his steps. Glancing around them swiftly, Javert grabbed Valjean by the collar of his t-shirt and dragged the surprised boy roughly off into the woods at the side of the track. 

Reaching a likely looking tree, he pushed Valjean up against it and stood back from him, pointing his finger furiously at Valjean's chest.

“You...” He growled. “You. You're always near me these days, or staring at me... I don't understand. What are you up to? Why were you running so close behind me? You usually fall behind in cross-country... Couldn't you stand me being better than you at just one thing?”

 

Valjean gaped at him.

 

“Javert... You're better than me at literally _everything_ except for team sports and lifting up heavy shit... You're like, _perfect..._ And how could you even think I'd...” 

Valjean was no longer able to talk because he'd apparently been struck by a colossal laughing fit. 

Javert rarely resorted to physical violence but in this instance it appeared called for. He hit Valjean hard in the shoulder, to get his bloody wandering attention back as much as anything. 

“Oh... I'm sorry Javert... You just look so funny stood there covered in mud pointing your finger at me...”

Javert made a low warning sound in his throat, and shoved Valjean against the tree again. 

“That's all _your_ fault, you big -”

Valjean kissed him. 

It took Javert's mind a few moments to process the occurrence, by which time he seemed to be responding in kind. At least, his mouth was moving wetly against Valjean's, and when an eager tongue sought entrance to his mouth, he parted his lips for it. Javert had never kissed anyone before, and had little idea how to, but outrage made him bold, and he pushed his face forward. He forced Valjean's tongue out of his mouth and delved between Valjean's lips with his own. He angled his jaw to allow greater proximity. His canines scraped along Valjean's front teeth and Valjean gasped into his mouth and drew back for breath. 

“Oh. Oh. Oh... _Javert_... I, um... I really like you...” He panted out, his faced flushed like it had been _that_ night. 

“ _What?_ ” Said Javert, his mind uncharacteristically blank.

“Urghh. I was watching you, um, in your... shorts...” Valjean admitted miserably. “And I wasn't watching where I was going. That's why I tripped...”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Javert muttered, colour flooding his face. 

Valjean whined. It did something strange to Javert's gut. 

“I'm not. Javert. _Um._ Please...” 

Of it's own accord, Javert's hand fisted in Valjean's messy hair and yanked to tilt his head back. 

“Please what?” He muttered in frustration. “You irritate me beyond reason...”

Valjean let out a wild bark of laughter that turned into something of a yelp when Javert's fist tightened in his wavy locks. 

The older boy bit down on his plump lower lip, peering at Javert from under his eyelashes. 

“...Kiss me again... Shove me again... Anything...” 

Without input from his brain, Javert's body complied, pushing up against Valjean, pressing him into the rough bark of the tree even as he brought their mouths together again in another biting kiss. 

Valjean groaned into his mouth, he felt the vibrations travel down his throat. Javert pulled back to breathe, and Valjean followed him with his whole body, as though reaching for him. 

The thought _this is real_ skittered across Javert's mind.

But then Valjean was pressing a trembling thumb between Javert's lips, invading his mouth, a mildly terrified expression upon his ridiculous rugby-player's face. Javert sucked the prying digit for a moment before he bit it.

Valjean gasped, grabbed at Javert's narrow hips encased in his mud-splattered shorts, and pulled them into line with his own.

Javert cried out shamefully as their swollen cocks rubbed together through layers of material.

The heat pooled between their groins and the only thing to do was get closer, rub harder... Javert ground his hips down into Valjean's, and Valjean, for all his stupidity, caught on fast, pushing up to meet him. 

Javert's eyes rolled back in his head. He'd never known what friction was until this moment. He was powerless to stop himself from rutting, again and again and again into the solid bulk of the other boy. The other boy who was pliant and panting and shuddering beneath him.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Javert...”

Javert had a sudden overwhelming urge to out-do Valjean in this somehow. His large hand found it's way to the small of Valjean's back, then boldly pushed down inside Valjean's shorts, finding it's way inside his underwear too, coming to rest on the supple roundness of Valjean's backside.

Valjean shouted into Javert's mouth before pulling away just enough to burble incoherently. 

“FUCK. Fuck! Javert! _Oh..._ So so _so._.. uh. Sexy...”

 _Shut up_ Javert thought impatiently – he may even have said it. He crooked his fingers and ran the tips roughly down the cleft of Valjean's plump buttocks.

The older boy made a barely human groaning sound, like a train being derailed, and damp warmth that was not of his own making soaked into the front of Javert's ruined shorts. 

He may have moaned a little himself at the salty smell of it. In any case, he rutted against Valjean's sticky groin harder, once, twice. Then the great clumsy ox somehow managed to work a hand between them and palm Javert's raging erection through cloth. 

Javert found the idiot's mouth and kissed him fervently throughout his juddering orgasm, solely to avoid making any embarrassing noises himself as his seed pumped out of him at length. 

They became still together in the aftermath, and the temptation may have been to remain embracing in shared mortification while they wrested their breath back off each other, had it not been for the cooling fluid beginning to stick them together from the waist down. 

So Javert bravely peeled himself away and stepped back, his coolly appraising eye surveying the utter wreck that was the tremmoring, sated and embarrassed Valjean with something oddly like triumph thundering through his veins.

And god knew that that made precisely no sense whatsoever...

“Javert?” Valjean managed between ragged breaths. “I... _Um._ Do you think we could maybe... Uh, again sometime?”

He bit his lip directly after he said it. Javert couldn't help but watch this intently. 

He thought for a moment. “Well. Friday evening. After lights out. If you were...” he swallowed, “...showering, and forgot the time again... I would have to come and remind you.” Javert muttered, still panting slightly. 

The look of dawning comprehension on Valjean's Neanderthal face was something to behold.

He opened his swollen red mouth to reply, but Javert had already turned on his heel and started making his way back through the wood to the running track. When the thundering of training shoes on their second lap died down, he stepped out from between the trees and chased after the pack, his long legs unfurling. 

He wouldn't allow himself to place in this race, of course. That would be cheating. But he didn't have to miss out on the exercise entirely. 

Bedraggled and tired and covered in mud and filth, Javert ran. His heart pounded in his ears, and a somewhat reckless smile found it's way onto his usually stern face.

 

*******  
**

**~FIN~  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last we saw awkward virginal public schoolboys Javert and Valjean they had just accidentally frolicked in the woods together and made an almost-arrangement to do more of the same... 
> 
> This is the unreasonably long story of that almost-arrangement. 
> 
>  
> 
> _*headdesk*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly had no intention of writing a second chapter of this bewildering piece of sarcastic candy floss. But here we are. 
> 
> Even by my usual standards, the sex-type scene in this chapter is unbelievably long and unspeakably awkward and fumbly. I can only apologise. 
> 
>  
> 
> _*wejustdontknowbird.gif*_
> 
>  
> 
> See the end for another note. (If you dare.)

 

 

 

John Valjean, it transpired, did not improve on closer acquaintance.

Javert discovered this in their geography lesson on Thursday, two days after the... incident, with the shorts and the mud and the woods and the running.

Javert did not possess a very high opinion of John Valjean - no amount of panting or rutting against a tree could change that. But even _he_ would have believed Valjean capable of understanding the need for subtlety in this circumstance.

It seemed he had given Valjean too much credit (an idea so unlikely that he began to question his own sanity).

Where Valjean could usually be found staring wide-eyed into the middle-distance through the classroom window during their Geography lesson, today his eyes fell upon a different target.

Javert found himself uncharacteristically fidgeting under the ceaseless weight of Valjean's thick gaze. He dared not turn to give the other boy a warning glare for fear of drawing the attention of their classmates. As the hour wore on, Javert couldn't restrain himself from squirming slightly in his seat. To be the focus of such undivided scrutiny for so long... He scribbled the same sentence in his notes three times before he realised what he'd done, catching the corner of his lip between his teeth in frustration. The worst of it was that he found himself irresistibly wondering if this action of his had had any effect on Valjean. He scrubbed his hands roughly through his hair at his unwitting complicity in this farce, earning a brief glance of concern from Mr. Evans, their geography teacher.

When the long hour of torture was finally over and Javert spilled from the classroom into the corridor with the rest of the sixth-years, it took him less than three seconds to locate the offending blockhead, twist his hand into the older boy's blazer, and draw him into one of the school's abundant draughty, secluded alcoves.

Pinning Valjean against the cold stone wall was perhaps not the wisest of actions, as it apparently led to Valjean peering up at him with an agitated yet pitifully hopeful expression. Javert let go of him quickly and took a step back.

“What on _Earth_ is wrong with you, Valjean!?” He hissed urgently. “Were you repeatedly dropped on your head as a child? You can't just go round _staring_ at me like that! People will notice!! They'll start to think...”

“...That we're... boyfriends... _oh_. Yeah.” Valjean jolted as though coming out of a deep sleep.

“Don't say _that_ , don't even think it!! Where do you think we are? _Art college_?! Seriously, sort yourself out...”

Valjean was once again watching him intently and it made him feel very warm, itchy even.

“Alright, I'll try...” - here Javert interrupted Valjean with a low growl - “ALRIGHT! Alright, I _won't_ stare... But Javert... Um. You'll still be looking for me after lights out tomorrow, won't you?”

Damn Valjean to hell and back for putting him on the spot like this. He made it sound as though Javert actually _wanted_ any of this drama...

“I said I would be, didn't I?” he snapped. “Can't you bloody well wait till then?” Javert felt himself blushing and turned his face away from Valjean quickly, though not quickly enough to miss the other boy's relieved smile.

 

 

_*****_

 

 

Cruelly, the day's tribulations did not end there.

The most boring part of Javert's school days came between the hours of seven and eight of a weekday evening, when pretty much every boy in their year was cooped up in the dormitory procrastinating in order to avoid studying.

Javert was currently ahead of schedule with his coursework, thankfully, and having no pending assignments he was at something of a loss over how best to occupy his time. He was presently engaged in lying on his bed re-reading _Macbeth_ (their English Literature teacher had been hinting at a Shakespeare-themed essay for a while now and he wanted to be prepared).

Javert disliked reading for pleasure in so much as he disliked spending time reading when there was anything practical that he could be doing. But when he had nothing else to occupy himself with he was not wholly ungrateful to books. He had an odd fondness for Shakespeare, liking the soliloquys, finding himself running through the speeches in his head when he was bored, testing his memory.

With this in mind, he put his ancient copy of _Macbeth_ down on his bedside table and sprang off the bed, reaching his shelf for _Othello_ , which contained his favourite speeches.

All else was deathly silent in the stuffy, overcrowded dormitory, and he moved at precisely the right moment to catch the attention of Cleggy, or _Justin Finley Clegg_ , to give him his full title – the sort of superior rich kid who apparently lived to make wisecracks about his fellow pupils.

Spying Javert's attire (which was, admittedly, not his greatest sartorial moment, being a pair of worn and faded jeans that were on the verge of being a little too narrow for him and a grey hand-me-down T-shirt that had seen better days), Cleggy nudged Barrow in the bunk next to him and said in a loud stage whisper:

“Looks like Javert's still auditioning for that role in Footloose...”

This comment provoked a scant few sniggers from the denizens of the room. Javert felt his lip curl into a pleased snarl as his long fingers grasped around the spine of Othello. If there was anything that broke up this quiet-time, it was thinking up comebacks to his classmate's wisecracks.

Javert swiftly crafted a beautiful retort involving Cleggy's own preference of polo attire. He was about to utter it when a tight voice from across the room cut short the burgeoning flow of banter.

“ _Shut. Up_.” Valjean said, quite clearly in Cleggy's direction.

What this interjection lacked in wit, eloquence and originality it made up for in the sheer novelty of hearing Valjean actually speak up in Javert's defense. It had the brilliant effect of immediately drawing the attention and curiosity of everyone in the room.

Cleggy snorted once his initial surprise had cleared.

“Oh... I _am_ sorry, John-o, but no matter how hard you try, you'll never manage to squeeze yourself into 80's jeans like those.”

“'Twas John-o's fondest wish, the stage.” Added Barrow conspiratorially, “But alas, he'll never have Javert's hips...”

What was crucially important, Javert thought, gritting his teeth slightly, was that he not blush. Blushing was the death-knell for any attempt to get your peers to drop a subject.

Barrow cackled suddenly. “O-M-G. Carrow. Look at John-o's face. Either the stage really was his fondest wish or...”

Javert didn't even need to look over at Valjean to know that he was as red as a beetroot.

Carrow laughed, loud and gleeful, along with a few of the other boys who were listening in.

“John-o _fancies_ Javert? John-o and _Javert_!? Oh my giddy aunt, that is fucking priceless!!”

It was at that moment that Javert accepted defeat and quit the dormitory with book in hand to a chorus of catcalls from his peers.

 

 

*****

 

 

And so, evidently, it was not without trials that Javert finally limped through the remainder of the week. Friday's classes appeared to stretch on forever. If he wasn't listening to Valjean being mercilessly mocked by his rugby team-mates, he was enduring Valjean's stifling gaze during their morning lessons. If he wasn't avoiding being hailed by Valjean in the corridors he was determinedly _not_ looking at Valjean – nor at Valjean's _muscles_ – during swimming (and more importantly, trying in vain not to notice as Valjean's eye's hungrily raked over his own body in his standard-issue trunks).

At the end of the school day, Javert steered clear of the common areas and headed instead for the most remote toilet cubicle in the grounds, taking himself firmly in hand almost before the bolt had fully slid into the lock.

He fought desperately to keep his breathing even as he palmed himself, thinking helplessly, furiously of Valjean, who was now invading his thoughts whether Javert wanted him to or not.

The effort it had taken him not to wind up sporting a massive, obvious stiffy during swimming had been truly momentous, so Javert's pent-up release was embarrassingly swift in coming. In the aftermath of his climax Javert caught his breath leaning his head against the cubicle door, thinking.

It occurred to him that even before events with Valjean had... taken their recent turn, he had devoted a great deal of his time to thinking about the other boy. About his trouble-making early years at the school, about his restless nature, about his physical prowess, about his status with the other pupils... Really, an almost unnatural amount of time, even more time than he customarily devoted to assessing each of his fellow students' character traits, flaws and potential weaknesses.

Might there just _possibly_ be another reason why he had spent so many waking moments wholly absorbed in thinking about the large, brutishly strong, odd and impulsive, thick-bodied, ruddy-cheeked rugby player?

When it came down to it, Javert was far too honest for his own comfort, as well as for everyone else’s.

Which is why he spent the next ten minutes gently thumping his clammy forehead against the toilet door.

 

 

*****

 

 

If any of Javert's fellow students had been looking for an opportunity to sneak hard liquor onto the premises, say, or throw away their obscene monthly allowances playing cards, or watch a porn film, then that Friday evening was it.

Javert had never been so distracted during his rounds. His prefect duties had never dragged so much. He had never checked his watch so many times.

At approximately five past midnight Javert made his way to the showers. It was with an immense effort of will that he kept his pace slow and constant. When his hand wanted to linger over the door handle, Javert strengthened his resolve and barged straight into the room, a torrent of expectations coursing through him.

_Valjean would already be naked._

_Valjean would be naked under the shower. Again..._

_Valjean would not be there._

But Valjean was there, fully dressed, his thick fingers clasped awkwardly in front of him, appearing not to have the slightest idea what to do with himself. He gave a start at Javert's sudden entrance. Javert thought that the older boy looked suspiciously like he might be wearing his best clothes.

John Valjean could make Javert furious quicker than any other living person – he felt the tremor in his limbs already.

“Well?” He snapped, impatient, his hands coming to rest on his hips with Valjean's familiar heavy gaze following the movement.

“I... Uh...” Valjean blinked and cast his eyes about desperately while Javert glared at him. Then a strange thing happened. Javert was almost sure he could see the cogs turning in the other boy's head. When Valjean opened his mouth again he was looking straight at Javert and his gaze sparked. “What d'you mean, _well_? You must know why we're here, or why else would you have come?”

Javert felt his facial muscles pulling into the shape of a grin, one that stretched his thin lips taught and revealed his sharp canines. Valjean's gaze went soft again immediately, peering at Javert's teeth.

“You already know that I... fancy you....” Valjean continued, ducking his head so that a chunk of hair flopped forwards into his eyes. “And I guess you're not entirely...”

“Shut up,” Javert said, moving towards Valjean now with intent because the other boy's clumsy words were making him warm.

“Javert. Wait. We should... I mean, should we... lock the door?” Valjean suggested with wide eyes, making Javert halt.

“ _Ahem_.” He managed in response, and fumbled in his pocket for a moment until he found the keys he carried as a prefect.

As he locked the shower-room door, Javert hesitated momentarily. He disliked misusing his authority as a prefect in this way. But his pulse was thundering in his temples and he could think of only one way to stop it.

He turned around to face Valjean across the room, only to jump violently when he found Valjean standing directly behind him, quiet and close.

Valjean jumped a little himself, but recovered enough to let out a wild, abandoned laugh and lunge for Javert's mouth. 

Their mouth's met with the same violent clash of teeth as Javert remembered from the woods. He twisted his fists in Valjean's sweatshirt and walked him backwards away from the door, gaining momentum, all while their tongues locked again and their lips moved desperately against one another.

Valjean's hands were grasping tightly about his waist as though he was slow-dancing with a girl – though Javert severely doubted that Valjean had ever done such a thing. (In his mind he was certain that Valjean, like him, had no experience of girls. Though in Valjean's case he imagined that it had more to do with social awkwardness than preference.)

Their movement across the floor stilled as Valjean parted their mouths. He took one of Javert's hands between his own trembling fingers and raised it up to his eye-level, kneading it softly as he examined it.

“They're so _big_. Much bigger than mine...” He said absently as his thick fingers tickled across Javert's clammy palm. He inclined his head then and swallowed, as though realising what he was saying. “I mean... Uhm. I've been wanting to... Can't help but like them...”

Javert watched, frozen, as Valjean dipped his flushed face to gently kiss the tips of his fingers and thumb, one by one. The tingling touch of Valjean's lips made him gasp, caused an unexpected tightening of his chest.

“What's _wrong_ with you?” He huffed, voice rougher than he could remember hearing it.

“I don't know, do I?” Valjean replied, looking at him with soft, pleading eyes. “I thought I might...” The older boy lowered his mouth once again and in the next moment Javert's middle finger had slipped between Valjean's plump lips. Valjean's tongue circled the knuckles of the long digit and flicked at the tender web of skin that connected it to his palm, before his lips came to rest tightly at the base.

And then he sucked.

“Ah!” Said Javert, his cock painfully, infuriatingly hard in his underpants. He may have growled a little as he took back his hand, took Valjean by the scruff of his neck and walked him backwards again, chasing Valjean's teasing mouth all the way, attempting to gain some control of the situation.

They came to a stop as Valjean's back bumped into something hard, Javert pushed forward and downward again, finally getting to ram another kiss onto Valjean's stupid mouth and fisting his sweater harder and standing flush against his chest as they kissed - 

With the slight hissing sound of protesting machinery, the shower they stood under came to life, spraying them with a downpour of lukewarm water.

They both cried out in alarm, with Valjean recovering quicker, his eyes strangely appealing when full of mirth. He pulled Javert out of the spray of the shower-head, and apparently couldn't wait a single moment before kissing him again, tilting his head to an angle which made the kissing deeper and wetter and more obscene somehow. Javert couldn't make himself pull away, even though their clothes and bodies were sodden with rapidly cooling water and he absolutely hated it.

When Valjean finally came up for air, he said with a faraway expression and absolutely no stammering; “I think you pushed me into that button on purpose.” 

Even though he knew Valjean was joking, even though he knew it was ridiculous, Javert still blushed furiously. He understood the implication. They'd both get undressed now. There hardly seemed to be a choice in the matter. And even if there was Javert still would have done it anyway. 

It took him an agonisingly long time to undo the buttons of his flannel shirt, sopping wet as it was. Of course it didn't help that he kept on catching Valjean's eye as he went, and Valjean was shrugging out of his sweatshirt and Valjean's eyes were crinkling at the corners.

Valjean's presence didn't help with many things, really.

When Javert finally reached the last remaining button, he decided to save time and attempted to shed his t-shirt and shirt together. This worked well until he heard Valjean's sharp intake of breath as his head emerged from the fabric, saw Valjean's eyes glued to his bared skin.

It was pathetic the way that this sound seared through Javert's belly. Valjean was ridiculously, inexplicably hot for him, he really should _know_ that by now, that if nothing else.

Javert had the damp fabric down to his wrists when he realised that he hadn't undone the cuffs of his shirt, effectively trapping his arms. He stared down in confusion for a moment, then Valjean was laughing at him again, and really, that should stop.

But then Valjean came to help him, fumbling through the dampness for the small cuff buttons, stood unreasonably close. And - a matter Javert could not possibly fail to notice - unreasonably bare-chested himself now. And he'd seen it before, he had, many times, but never from this vantage point.

The thickness of Valjean's chest and arms, the sturdy trunk of his body, the hardness of his muscles. Javert did not want to find these things appealing, but he unavoidably did. His hard cock twitched inside the _all-too-confining_ confines of his jeans. The solid bulk of Valjean... _he really was born to be a rugby player, wasn't he..._

Finally Javert's arms were freed from their soggy bonds, and Valjean tossed their wet clothing into a pile on the floor. They kissed again because there was no way around it, groping at each others bared arms and chests in a clumsy fashion. Javert had his large hands wrapped around the solid muscle of Valjean's shoulders, while Valjean's hands smoothed up and down Javert's flanks, lingering on the narrowest part of his waist, just under his prominent lower ribcage.

Valjean moved his palms haltingly all over Javert's torso, sliding over his back, then – too roughly – over his peaked nipples, before coming back to rub Javert's abdomen.

Javert had picked up an assortment of scars over the years, but the jagged one that Valjean's fingers lingered on now appeared to have caught his attention.

He pulled back from their kissing breathlessly to stare his question up into Javert's eyes.

“Appendix.” Javert grunted out impatiently. _What else?_ “Had peritonitis.”

Without warning, Valjean was on his knees upon the tiled floor. Before Javert could get another word out, Valjean's arms were around his waist and Valjean was pressing moist kisses along the length of the ugly scar, following it down from near the blade of Javert's hip to where it curved and disappeared into the waistband of Javert's jeans.

“Shit. SHIT. Christ.” Javert shouted before he could get his hand up to his mouth to muffle the sound.

Valjean finished by pressing another kiss, this one roughly to the point on his jeans where his scar continued.

“May I?” He asked breathlessly, staring up at Javert with his wide eyes and his fingers suddenly on Javert's top button.

“What?! No!” Javert exclaimed (though he may have meant _yes_ ), and he clutched roughly at Valjean's shoulders to encourage him to stand back up. “We have to... we should take off our trousers _together_. I mean, we both got soaked, so...”

They both reached hesitantly for their flies, then looked away from the other, which made it slightly easier.

Javert swiftly undid his old boots with shaking fingers, unbuttoned his wet and clinging jeans and pushed them down his thighs. His damp boxers came down with the jeans, but that was alright, surely, because they were headed _there_ any way and there really was no point in being shy about it now...

He toed his way out of the last shreds of his clothing and nudged them to the side along with his boots. Steeling himself, clenching his fists, he looked up at Valjean again.

Who still had his underpants on, though so massively tented and wet that he may as well not have, and was rooted to the spot, just _ogling_ Javert's bared cock openly, mouth fallen open into that simpleton facial expression that Javert was coming to know so well.

Javert tried his hardest to stand his ground, he really did, but he found it physically impossible not to cover himself up with his hands.

“You're... so... se- gor... _handso-_ your _body_...” Valjean managed to grit out through his teeth as though he was in pain.

Javert snorted derisively, though in truth he'd never felt a compliment curl up and hit him in the gut like this one did, even if it was just the moment talking. In any case his snort spurred Valjean into action – he finally shed his underwear and stood there bare...

...For about a millisecond, before they were on each other again, embracing fervently, picking up where they'd left off with the exploration. But it was far more _urgent_ business now, so their hands grew bold and came to grasp each others cocks.

Then Valjean moved his hands round to grasp Javert's arse firmly, squeezing and pulling their groins closer together, and hands were forgotten as hips met and moved together. Javert could feel Valjean's desperate moans through his mouth.

Javert lost track of events for a moment, wracked with pleasure, and when his eyes focused again they were grappling with each other as though wrestling, gasping and shuddering. Somehow they ended up on their knees on the tiled floor with their tongues down each other's throats.

The heat between them had flickered into a sudden battle for dominance, and they become rougher, grunting and rolling as they tried to pin the other down, neither of them having much success because it was far too important to keep moving and keep rolling and keep _rubbing_ up against the other.

They bumped into an awkward side-on position which wrenched their mouths apart.

A ragged gasp from Valjean; “Can I... Can I put my mouth... on you... I _really_ want to...?”

Javert struggled with forming a sentence, he was so caught up in the feel of Valjean's naked bulk pressed against his skin. “I. I... Christ.” An odd notion took him. “Can we maybe, _both._..?”

A strangled cry emanated from Valjean's direction. In seconds he was shifting about so that they we both still lying on their sides, but... top-and-tailing, so to speak.

Now they were curled around one another in a strange formation on the damp tiles and Valjean's hairy, musty groin was in his face. More specifically, his throbbing cock, which nudged against Javert's nose repeatedly, until he inhaled deeply and put his mouth over the head of it.

Valjean pretty much screamed.

It made Javert half-grin around the girth of his cock.

And then Valjean's tongue found the shaft of _his_ cock, and Javert jolted his hips and shouted and moaned around Valjean's erection, long and low.

“I'm going to come.” Valjean stated. And did.

The sensation of come flooding his mouth was new and shocking to Javert, he coughed and spluttered and swallowed and choked and coughed and spluttered a bit more. The DANGER: LACK OF OXYGEN messages didn't reach his lower body. His cock in Valjean's face was as hard as ever. His hips had begun moving in small circles of their own accord. The sharp salty taste coating his mouth and throat and dribbling from his lips only heightened his arousal – he would've been lying if he'd said he _disliked_ the taste.

Valjean, typically, was tortuously slow in coming back to himself after his orgasm. He continually gasped Javert's name into Javert's pubic hair for a short while, which Javert in his desperation found bizarrely pleasurable.

Just when Javert had begun to give up hope and believe that he would spend the rest of his life balanced agonizingly on the precipice of climax, he felt Valjean's strong hands clasping around his buttocks, drawing his whole abdomen closer to the chasm of Valjean's mouth. Valjean pulled him, and Javert's hips canted and his cock pushed forward and slid deep into the wet heat of Valjean's wide mouth. He felt Valjean coughing at his intrusion, but the boy bravely soldiered on, peeling his lips back up the shaft of Javert's cock to the tip where the tongue slid clumsily around for a few seconds. Then with a blessed united purpose of Javert's hips and Valjean's mouth, Javert was deep inside again, bumping up against the roof of Valjean's mouth and shuddering throughout his entire body in response.

“Valjean. Valjean. Valjean.” He babbled carelessly.

Valjean repeated the motion of peeling his lips off Javert's shaft, touching tongue to tip, and it was far too much.

“Valjean... _John!_!” He yelped in warning.

A fist of panic and elation – oddly mixed with concern - seized at Javert, and he jerked, pulling free from Valjean's lips just as his orgasm ripped through him.

Only to feel himself spurt all over Valjean's poor, trusting face.

For just a few glorious moments he couldn't have cared less. His entire being tingled with the relief of release and joy shot down his arms to his fingertips. He had only to focus on catching a breath, in and out, stay alive...

_Pulse. Pulse. Pulse._

_In, out. In, out._

_Fuck fuck,_ fuck.

His cock gloriously spent at last, the guilt flooded back in on him, worse when he could feel one of Valjean's hands massaging over his hip gently.

“ShitShitFuck I'm sorry...” Javert panted, his voice raw. He was incredibly disorientated by their positions on the floor and he took an embarrassingly long time to work out how to turn his body so that the two of them were lying face to sticky face. “Christ, I am so sorry. I honestly couldn't stop it...”

He faltered because Valjean was grinning so beautifically at him, his face dripping with Javert's come.

He found it disgusting and oddly affecting all at the same time.

It was difficult to summon the energy, but someone had to do it; Javert dragged Valjean's huge but pliant form under a shower-head and turned on the spray, rubbing his hand impersonally over Valjean's sticky face to clean it, rubbing his hand through his wet hair for no discernible reason.

Valjean's hands pulled his face into the spray to kiss him before all the gunk was off him, Javert tasting his own semen on Valjean's wet lips. They kissed as the shower warmed up and kept going long after all the evidence of their deed was washed away down the drain.

 _There's no need for this_ , Javert thought. The deed is done. It's time for damage control, time to hide it, time to sidle back to the dormitory in damp clothes and try to find a plausible reason for that, time to try not to give your worthless classmates any more reason to think that you and Valjean fancy each other in some way, time to remember that you're a prefect and a loner and a social outcast and _you don't need any of this shit._

The shower above them switched itself off.

So now they were naked and wet with no towels and wet clothes. Fantastic. And not awkward at all in any way, no.

The temptation, of course, was to sit there under the shower-head continuously pressing the button all night. But that way madness lay. Madness and hypothermia.

Not to mention more erections.

Javert, being the pragmatist, studiously ignored Valjean's dopey staring as he fiddled with the room's radiator dials, hung their clothes on one of them to dry out, and sat cross legged next to one of the others, hands folded over his lap.

When Valjean came to sit next to him, Javert wasn't even annoyed.

“Luke...” Valjean began.

Javert bristled and snapped. “Don't call me that. I don't like that. No one calls me that.”

“You called me Jo-”

“No I didn't. Did I? When? Anyway, it doesn't matter. I don't call you _that_. And you don't call me _that other thing_. That's just... final.”

Something of Valjean's unimaginable awkwardness had evaporated. He had the daftest grin on his exasperating face.

“Javert... I really _really_ like doing this with you. I can't tell you... I really like spend-”

“I like you too.” Javert stated bluntly, because God help him it was the truth, even if he had certainly not intended to ever say it.

Sometimes he just really needed Valjean to shut up.

 

 

 

*****

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for Javert's unused (and that's FINAL!!) first name came from a discussion I read on the glorious kinkmeme one time about possible AU Javert first names. The discussion was in the thread for that awesome Equillibrium crossover fill. So to faceless anons 1 and 2 goes the credit for that name suggestion. Sue if you must. ; )


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